


Vacant

by Hyululu



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Gen, Tumblr Prompt, almost literally nothing happens in this fic, animperfectscientst, as usual, carlos in mild and nondescript peril, or at least somewhat unnerving, possibly spooky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 15:34:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1309987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyululu/pseuds/Hyululu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever get that feeling that an empty room isn't quite as empty as you wish it was?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vacant

**Author's Note:**

> This was a picture-based prompt meme that was admittedly hastily written. I read it again recently and liked it more than I had when I wrote it, and so I though "heck", and decided to share it here. Many apologies for my inability to think of a decent title. wow
> 
> Prompt picture included below with story :)

 

It’s a suspiciously neutral office, all things considered. Neutral grey cubicles surrounded by neutral beige walls. The colored ‘accents’ only make it worse, because the maroon cabinet doors and the blue floor mats can hardly be  _called_ those colors, really. They’re ugly, and somehow remind Carlos of vomit. Or make him  _want_  to. He’s not sure.   
And there’s something about the lighting. Garish, buzzing, keening florescents that cast everything into sharp and sickly relief. He can see all the wiry little fibers in the bland carpet, and all the infinitesimal, nigh-microscopic lines in his own skin.

He isn’t sure how he got here.  
He isn’t sure where ‘here’ is.  
He might be alone here. But he’s not really sure about  _that_ , either, because the silence is a little  _too_  solid and the flickering bulb at the end of the office is casting shadows where it shouldn’t, and  _they are getting closer_.

There are always exit signs in these kind of places, and Carlos looks for one now,  _calmly_ , scanning over the grey maze of cubicle paneling for anything neon and red and exitlike.  
Neon green restroom sign. Neon blue sign that implies a faculty lounge.

The light flickers, and his sense of alone flickers with it. There is, almost undoubtedly, something here with him. Not in spite of the stillness in the air, or the heavy, tangible quiet, but  _because_  of it. The kind of conspicuous emptiness that suggests someone, somewhere, is causing a tremor in the air with their breath, causing a tension throughout the entire room, taut like a wire and vibrating, simply by trying so hard not to let their presence be known.  
Carlos knows.  
Who ever is here with him knows now that he knows.

There are no neon red exit signs. There are no exits.  
He is not alone here.


End file.
